


Lie Down

by izzyb



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Medical Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-30
Updated: 2010-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:23:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyb/pseuds/izzyb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chekov discovers something very interesting about McCoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lie Down

"Well lie down, will you?" McCoy was exasperated already and Pavel's stomach ache intensified.

He had meant to sneak into the sickbay during Delta shift when the doctor was not on shift and perhaps be treated by Nurse Chapel who didn't growl at him, making his chest and other parts flutter dangerously in a way that was not caused from the space flu. The captain had ordered him down here after he had passed out cold on the bridge floor during an otherwise boring Beta shift; it was all Mitchell's fault—infecting him with traces of the illness while subbing for Sulu, who was also out sick. McCoy was the only one available to treat him as everyone else was either ill or taking a well-deserved break from treating the ill.

Fucking flu season.

"Please, Doctor. My stomach does not feel good. Moving too quickly is…an issue."

"Well I can't take your temperature when you're sitting facing me." He put one hand up to the young ensign's forehead, feeling for heat the old-fashioned way. He then dropped the tricorder in his other hand on the bed, cursing. "You head is too warm, and if you have what everyone else has, it is not going to be evident with this damn excuse for technology that couldn't detect the fever and stop this with patient zero. So remove your pants and lie down."

Chekov's mouth fell open—he couldn't help it. Was the doctor seriously suggesting he bend over for him? "I—I have never had it done that way, at least that I can remember." He cursed his stuttering, but it was embarrassing to think of this man sticking something inside him, even if he was his doctor. Exams of this sort were not usually given by those he was attracted to and he usually had more warning, more time to prepare.

McCoy sighed and drew the privacy curtain around the bed, even though the bustle of sickbay had died down for the moment. "Listen kid, this needs to be stopped soon or we aren't going to have enough crew members to run this ship. Don't you want to get back to the bridge?"

He nodded. Of course he wanted to go back to work—he loved his job. It was _hell_ leaving others in charge of his station.

"Then listen to me and get those pants off."

His resolve faltering under McCoy's steady glare, he gave in. He shucked his pants while McCoy's back was discretely turned. Not really knowing how to position himself, he ended up awkwardly on his hands-and-knees on the biobed, face burning. He was not in the position long before he felt a warm hand on his lower back, burning into the skin more than normal body temperature should. Was he really that feverish?

"Relax, ensign." Pavel wondered when the doctor had learned to be soothing and how often he showed this side to crew members. Everyone he knew said that McCoy had a terrible bedside manner, but he wasn't seeing that now.

"Now, I have this all slicked up, so it shouldn't hurt a bit." The doctor hid the thermometer from his view when he glanced back nervously. "Trust me, Chekov. It will be fine."

A gloved hand smeared something on his anus. Yes, he was going to think about his body clinically so that when the warm hands moved from his back to his ass, he did not do something stupid like get hard.

Too late.

"This may be a little cold." A thin object was inserted in him, quickly and efficiently enough that Pavel did not gasp until it was all the way inside. Ten seconds later (he was keeping track on the chronometer located conveniently on the wall in front of him, gritting his teeth so he didn't spew out obscenities at how turned on he was getting), it was removed and he was told to dress again. "See, that wasn't so bad, now was it?"

He grunted and stayed on his hands and knees, attempting to hide his erection. "No, doctor," he said obediently. Pavel thought his back was still turned when he hopped off the bed and grabbed his trousers.

"Now—you have a slight fever, so you should—oh—" He stopped speaking as he saw Pavel struggling to button his pants. "You should—hmm—take care of that."

Pavel paused; fingers on the clasp, incredulous at his change in tone and telltale flush. The doctor was usually professional, at least when he wasn't going on his long rants directed at the captain or his medical staff.

"Are you offering to help?" Pavel did not know where the confidence came from as he was not usually the pursuer in sexual encounters. Many males his age had propositioned him in his short life and he usually turned them down gently, not interested in settling for a boy when he could have a man. He leaned against the biobed, watching the doctor beneath lowered eyelashes, his earlier panic forgotten now that he had his pants fastened.

McCoy looked troubled, torn. The doctor took an almost-involuntary step towards him, intent, eyes burning before they closed and he turned away from him, puttering around at the station next to the bed as if the desire had never been voiced, hands trembling only slightly.

He stabbed a hypospray into Chekov's neck more viciously than usual; an action usually reserved for his more troublesome patients. Ignoring Chekov's flinch and wounded expression, he continued, "As I was saying before, you need to drink clear fluids to keep yourself hydrated. This dose will help with the symptoms, but you need rest."

Chekov glanced at McCoy's now closed-off face and straightened from his leaning position. He began to walk out of sickbay before realizing that he held the power here—McCoy was fighting this attraction to him. His nerves completely absent now, he turned back to him, eyebrows arched. "You won't always be on shift, or in sickbay. And I should be feeling better soon."

"Oh, are you the doctor, now? You know your diagnosis better than me?"

He shook his head, wincing a bit at the headache forming behind his eyes. "No, doctor, but I do know what you are feeling." He smiled ruefully. "And there will be a time when you won't fight it anymore."

Having the last word gave him renewed energy and he practically pranced out of the door, leaving the doctor sputtering behind him.


End file.
